Bloody Book
by Zarsi
Summary: Tradition. How important can writing this book be? I mean yea, my mother, grandmother, great-grand mother, great-great-great...okay, so it's pretty important. That, and my mother pretty much threatened me with a strainer if I didn't so, here we go. PostDH


Keeping her head down and her hood up, Ginny Potter raced through the streets of Muggle London. In her arms, she was carrying a small, nondescript notebook, and on her face was a look of concern and confusion. She was close to tears, and was running home where she could breakdown without anyone seeing her. Harry was still at the office and wouldn't be home until much later. By then, she supposed, she'd be composed.

About a block from her house, she could see a crowd of paparazzi standing outside the gate. _Great . . ._ She thought as her steps slowed. She didn't have the ability to deal with them at the moment, because she knew what they wanted. They wanted the why.

Why had the Holyhead Harpies lead scorer suddenly, with no rhyme nor reason, quit the team this morning?

Clenching the notebook tighter, she tried not to relive the conversation she had had this morning with her coach. It was the right decision, the best decision.

Because this wasn't a mistake.

Keeping her head down, Ginny turned and walked behind a nearby tree. She looked around to see if anyone was watching, when she was satisfied that the coast was clear, she turned on the spot and apparated with a slight _POP!_

She landed on the floor of her mother's kitchen with a crash. She was never good at landing, something Harry commented on whenever he could. He enjoyed joking with her saying that she only passed because the ministry was kissing up to "The Chosen One." She secretly sometimes agreed.

Placing the notebook on the table, Ginny stood up and looked around. Good. No one appeared to be home. The fewer witnesses to this ninja escape, the better. If she thought she couldn't handle the press, then she was _certain_ she couldn't handle her mother. That woman had eyes like a hawk, and it wouldn't take much time at all before she knew.

And Ginny didn't want anyone to know yet.

Grabbing her notebook (If she forgot the one thing that drug her out of bed this morning, she would not be happy with herself), Ginny tiptoed into the living room and over to the fireplace. Grabbing a fistful of Floo Powder, Ginny threw it into the fireplace, stepped in, and wearily called out "Potter Place!"

Stumbling out of the fireplace and onto the plush carpet of her living room, Ginny promptly threw up.

'_Today is sooo not my day'_ she thought as she pulled out her wand and muttered _tergeo,_ at the mess on the carpet. She leaned her head against the rocking chair and closed her eyes. While her stomach settled, Ginny's thoughts focused on the book in her lap. This tiny, black notebook had been the bane of her existence this morning. She hadn't wanted to get it, but it was a tradition upheld by all Weasley women, and even though she was no longer a Weasley, her mother would kill her if she didn't participate.

Sighing, she opened her eyes and glanced at the clock. It was five. Harry wouldn't be back until eight. Ginny gathered her bearings and stood up. Swaying a little on her feet, Ginny stood still until she was sure she could walk. After a moment, Ginny bent down and got the stupid black notebook. _Here we go . . . _She thought, walking over to the couch.

Sitting down and summoning a quill and ink, Ginny started . . .

_August 23__rd_

_Today marks the first official_

_Today is an AMAZING day!_

_I've been running around all day to –_

_I just can't wait until_

"AW BUGGER IT ALL!" Ginny yelled, tossing the notebook across the floor. How in the bloody hell was she supposed to write in the blasted thing _every_ day for the foreseeable future? She knew that it was important to her mother, she'd been hearing it since she was a little girl. When Ginny turned eleven, her mother had shown her all seven of the books she had completed. When she turned sixteen, Molly showed her the books once again, accompanied by the books written by her grandmother Weasley. When Ginny turned seventeen, her mother showed her Fleurs book as well. On her wedding day, Molly once again brought up the subject of the books to a very disgruntled daughter. Ginny understands now that she really doesn't have a choice, she'll write the bloody thing if it kills her . . . and it might.

She hated journals. She had since her first year in Hogwarts. Now, she didn't expect Voldemort to try and possess her through this cheap notebook, he was _long _dead (five years now) and she was over that irrational fear.

Her problem then? Someone was going to read it. Her personal views, fears, complaints, secrets, and joys. Someone, maybe even a bunch of people, would read it. The more Ginny thought about it, the more she panicked. They would make the bloody thing into a _book!_ What with her being a famous (ex now) Quidditch player and her husband being not only the head of Aurors, but the leader of the Ministry Revolution, and (most importantly) the defeater of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!

Ginny groaned and put her head in her hands. Her mother was going to make her life hell if she didn't produce a book by the end.

And that was when Ginny Potter had an idea.

"I'll write in the bloody book." She said aloud, walking over to pick it up from the cauldron of Floo Powder it landed in. "I'll write in it, but I shall only write the bare necessities."

Grinning, Ginny opened the front of the notebook and set her quill to paper.

_August 23__rd_

_ Guess it's pretty obvious since I'm writing this, but I'm pregnant._

**A/N: Yea…I'm bored. I just re-read the series this past week and..now I'm out of things to accomplish, so what do I do? FANFICTION!**

**Anyway, this is complete, and I'll update every so often, so remember that reviews are nice.**

**This is ALSO the FIRST FanFiction that I have written in um….uh….5 years. The others on my page I wrote when I was 13 and just posted them on here. **

**Ah…so good to be back. :)))))) **


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